


Vidi

by Olympus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Dark Harry, Dark Lord Harry Potter, Dark Magic, Dark Percy, F/F, F/M, Harry was a twin brother, Long, M/M, Mentioned Murder, Percy has an older sister, Rewrite, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, also i last read pjo like 7 years ago so bear w me...., everything will be explained along the way, magic exploration, mentioned rape, none written, takes a while to build, this is fun i promise, you don't need to know pjo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2019-10-30 19:50:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17835062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olympus/pseuds/Olympus
Summary: Harry James Potter died the night Voldemort struck. However, his brother lived, and Harry's own soul was dragged back into his body—horcrux in tow. The "Boys-Who-Lived" are welcomed into a world that isn't what it should be, and Harry is determined to change the world to how he sees fit.Perseus Jackson was the second born to Sally Jackson, the younger brother to Antigone, hero of the prophecy. He is tugged in two directions, neither side having what he thinks he wants—or rather, needs. The hero of nothing needs a break. Instead, he ends up at the wrong end of a wand.In which Percy Jackson and Harry Potter change the world. (Together?)





	1. Chapter 1 - gotta start somewhere

The day started out bright and clear, the air crisp with only a hint of cold. James and Lily Potter were readying themselves for Samhain, a wizarding holiday in which the spirits are closer to the veil than any other time—it was Lily's third or fourth time celebrating the holiday in general, and the couple really needed alone time. They had been invited to many Samhain balls that took place in lavish pureblood mansions, but had opted for attending a festival that would light up the streets of Rome. The twins, Harry and Charlus, would be taken care of by Peter Pettigrew.

As the couple began to head out the door, James reassured Peter for the ninth time that the boys were easygoing; they would not be a problem. No matter, however, Lily could see apprehension in his eyes. The twins were happy babies, easy to calm and even easier to lay to sleep. 

“If there are any problems whatsoever, get to us immediately, okay?” James said once again, amusement in his eyes as Peter nodded frantically. The man glanced at the children playing happily on the floor.

Lily stepped into their conversation, tugging James towards the door. “We need to hurry! The portkey to the festival triggers soon.” She shot a smile to Peter, her own effort to reassure him. Peter smiled back tentatively.  
“You’ll all be fine,” James stated as he followed his wife to the door. “We’ll only be gone for a few hours… unless Lily decides to—” 

Lily hit his arm, glaring at him with embarrassment in her eyes. Samhain last year had been an event, the first night in a while that the couple had been free. James remembered fondly that Lily had had too much drink and passed out the moment they stepped foot in the house. Rubbing the spot James knew would be sore in the morning, he sent a thumbs up to Peter before apparating with Lily to the portkey spot. 

-

As soon as they left, Peter’s good mood sank. He knew that tonight the Dark Lord would strike, and he could only wait, full of anxiety, for the wards to fall.

It didn’t take long. Only 30 minutes after the couple left did Peter sense the wards fall. To him, (as it changed for every wizard) the feeling was similar to that of a cold breeze. That feeling only occurred when the magic surrounding a person dissipated—in this case, it heralded the appearance of the dark lord Voldemort. 

The animagus thought back to Harry and Charlus, wondering about their fate. The children were in their cribs. Peter had put them to sleep nearly as soon as James and Lily left, not being able to bear seeing the children that would soon be dead. There was something deep in Peter that doubted his actions, doubted what he knew was complete and utter betrayal, and even doubted the person he would become. However, rather than face it as the Gryffindor he once believed he could be, Peter opened the door to the man who would attempt to murder Harry and Charlus Potter.

Voldemort was what one would call a striking man. Where once his features may have been elegant and surely pureblood, now in their place was something reminiscent. His eyes were a crimson red, bright and unnatural. His other features were strangely muted, some seeming serpentine in their appearance. Peter saw it as effective in controlling his followers—the man was terrifying. 

Coupled with his inhuman grace, the man formerly known as Tom Riddle was a horrifying sight to see. He moved as if nothing could (or would) get in his way, and Peter supposed that it was true. The dark lord was known for his ruthlessness in battle, no matter the fact he rarely appeared in battle nowadays. He had the death eaters to do his dirty work. 

Peter was drawn out of his brief contemplation by a cold hand gripping his chin. Idly, Peter compared the icy skin (scales?) to that of a snake. His face was forced up and he made eye contact with Voldemort, who then ripped through his mind. 

Images of past experiences with the Potters flew by in Peter’s mind as the dark lord dug deeper, the metaphorical claws of legilimency cutting their way into the rat-like man’s past. There were scenes of the marauders bullying children younger than them, memories of the group learning their Animagus transformations.

Yet, Voldemort flew past those memories. He dove into the recesses of Peter’s mind, seeking something darker—more specific. In the area the foreign mind was now lay only scenes of things Peter had wanted to forget. 

Things like why he had chosen to betray his beloved marauders.

The dark lord’s descent stopped as he found what he was looking for. The memory he had chosen was one that Peter often looked back on when trying to find the reasoning for his betrayal. James and Sirius were in their late teens, lounging on the floor of their dorm playing a game of exploding snap.

Peter had walked into the room, intending to ask the pair a question about the assigned transfiguration homework. Instead, he had walked into the pair talking about Peter. Idly, he recalled that Remus had also been a topic of the conversation, but to Peter's one-track mind in that situation, the fact the boys were talking about him was awful enough. This was the seed that grew to be Wormtail's going the dark lord. The boys were known to be mean-spirited, and Peter had known (even then) that he never really had fit in with them. He was only there to be useful once a month. 

He felt silly about this memory being one that caused him pain, then and now. With another gaze upon this moment, he wished with his entire being that he could forget it. Forget this stupid moment that had motivated him to do so much later in life. However, this is one thing that Peter knew made him stand out from the other Gryffindors in his life. He never forgot. 

There was a feeling of satisfaction as Voldemort pulled out of Peter Pettigrew’s mind, not bothering to repair any trails he had left. He withdrew his gaze from Peter’s watery blue eyes.

“Weak. I suppose I understand why you did what you did..." Voldemort drawled. "I will spare your life, but you’ll be on your own after tonight.” The dark lord’s words were brief and relatively emotionless. Peter knew that now, as of much of his life, he was a simple means to an end.  
Voldemort stepped into the house, reveling in the knowledge that there was no one in the home to stop him. Perhaps, after this night, he would be—finally—unstoppable. With that thought in his mind, he began the ascent into the twin Potter’s bedroom. 

He passed pictures of the boys hanging in the staircase. The two seemed to be happy babies, the pictures only showing brief moments in their animation. The dark lord stopped to stare at one picture in particular: Lily Potter and her parents. The dark lord felt as if he had seen the witch's mother somewhere in the past, yet the memory escaped his mind. Shaking off the feeling that he should know who the woman was, he continued to hunt for the children. he finally stopped at the end of the hallway, having passed a couple rooms and a bathroom. Light spilled from the room he had been looking for. Stepping into the space, he was bathed in a soft blue light emanating from a bewitched mobile hanging above the crib. Voldemort felt that there should have been music from the mobile. With a twitch of his wand, the dark lord gave the mobile a slow, haunting tune. Then, the man looked at the children.

One twin had the striking red hair of Lily potter herself, as if the fire Prometheus had given mankind had been rebirthed into a new form. The other twin (Voldemort hadn’t cared to learned their names) opened his eyes, and Tom Riddle was surprised.

the child's eyes were the color of Avada Kedavra, the color of life frozen over, a color most often associated with death. He figured that this was appropriate, and aimed his wand at the child’s heart. Whispering the fated words, that strikingly similar green shot out of the yew wand. As such, the eldest Potter twin breathed no more. He met the glassy green eyes and knew that the boy’s soul was gone. 

Voldemort moved onto the next twin, who was now awake. Much like his brother, the child watched him with a gaze that would be best described as uneasy, as if he knew that fate that had been his brother’s. A difference between the two, Voldemort noticed, was not only their eyes, but the presence they held. The green-eyed twin was just… more. There was more to him. (He didn’t notice himself refer to the child as if he wasn’t dead)

The words were said once again. However, as most know this story goes, that dreaded Avada Kedavra rebounded, striking the dark lord and disembodying the man for the next 11 or such years. 

Yet, something else miraculous happened. The horcrux created did not latch onto the one who had survived the curse, but rather, the one who didn’t. The soul had not left the veil, and the horcrux dragged it back. Harry Potter’s soul was once again in its body. This time, it had carried something with it, something that would change not only the Potters, but their entire world, which would soon not be limited to the wizards.

-

Harry Potter looked out the window in his room. The day was warmer (and more humid) than usual, and as such he had opted to stay inside rather than play with his brother. Charlus was out there having the time of his life all while sweating more than he ever had before. 

Lily and James had bought the twins their own brooms for their birthday, warning the boys about bringing the items to Hogwarts. However, as soon as Harry and Charlus had managed to get alone, they hatched a plan to smuggle the brooms into school.

But… Hogwarts.

Usually it would be fair to say Harry was nervous, or even anxiety ridden, but it would be an understatement. They had just turned 11, the year most wizarding children would attend their school of choice—the boys-who-lived were no exception, eagerly awaiting their own letters of acceptance. 

However, Harry was still unsure. For years after the incident that thrust the twins into the spotlight, James and Lily had protected the boys. They had virtually disappeared for years, living in many places for equally many years. This led to the twins having a broad knowledge of the world outside England, much of which was unknown to the pureblooded aristocrats that populated the isles.

-

But when the boys were about 8, the Potters finally decided to settle back down in England. Potter Manor hadn’t been lived in since James’ parents died. Fleamont and Euphemia Potter had taken care of their ancestral home, keeping the wards strong, as well as just in general taking care of the home. When they died, James hadn’t bothered to upkeep his childhood home, but rather opted to close the manor down. 

When the family returned to England, the first place they stopped was that very manor. Harry would never forget the feeling of when the wards came alive, the magic had whipped around them as if sentient. 

It ran up and down their bodies, smelling like fresh rain in spring, tickling their noses and overwhelming their senses. It tingled on the skin, and if you looked closely, Harry could have sworn he saw the magic itself. 

When the sensation was done, the house was more alive, and it was at that moment Harry fell in love with magic. 

James had smiled down at his twins. “This is our new home—Potter Manor,” he exclaimed, his wide gestures stemming from the exhilaration left by the wards coming alive. 

Charlus, too, had been excited about their new home. The twins had run up and down every hall the manor offered, which was many, peeking into more rooms than they could have imagined. Everything was mostly barren; any furniture having been covered by the house elves before they left. However, there were a few rooms (what most likely would have been sitting areas or parlors) that housed sleeping portraits. 

It was later, after everything had been put back to normal, that James introduced his children and wife to the paintings. Charlus was bouncing off the walls still, more than excited about their new homes. The Potter ancestors followed his movements with amusement, commenting on the boy’s energy—they then zeroed in on Harry himself, remarking on the odd color of his eyes. This was not the first time Harry had heard such and he knew it would not be the last.  
-

 

Harry was now in the kitchen with his father. After hours in the sun, the man had decided to head back inside, citing the fact that he was “extremely dehydrated and required immediate nourishment,” which simply meant it was time for lemonade. Charlus had not bothered to argue for once.

“Are you two ready for your Hogwarts letters?” The twin’s father asked, winking. “I heard from a source that they should be coming soon…” 

Charlus looked as if he was going to explode if the letters didn’t arrive soon, Harry thought. 

“Did Remus tell you? Or was it Siri? I know they’re both just starting out as professors, but dad. I’ve been looking forward to this for years," the red-haired twin all but yelled. 

“Look, I know, but it won’t kill you to wait a few more days,” James laughed as Charlus let out a dramatic sigh.

“Dad, it actually might kill him,” Harry whispered, “I mean, look at him… he’s already bright red!” He poked fun at Charlus’ newly formed sunburn. The other boy really was red, and the burn would definitely hurt tomorrow.

The trio were interrupted as a frazzled-looking Lily burst through the doors, an owl following her. “The birds chased me! I apparated to the edge of the wards, just wanting to take a walk to my own house... dear merlin!” The green-eyed woman’s hair was fuzzy, and it was evident she had had to run to the manor. “These better be the Hogwarts letters, you boys have been waiting long enough.”

Harry totally agreed, already grabbing a letter from the larger owl. It read as follows: 

Mr. H. Potter,  
The Last Bedroom on the Left  
Potter Manor, [REDACTED]

Charlus had also grabbed his own from the tawny owl. The brother’s shared a look, both unable to believe that the moment they had been waiting for was finally here.

“Now,” James interrupted, “Keep in mind that I expect you to torment dear old ‘Sniv until he quits.” 

Lily shot her husband a look that not only said “shut up,” but also promised pain if he didn’t. 

-

Diagon Alley was crowded. However, this was normal. Teens swarmed out of stores with their hands full of bags, school supplies and whatnot, before uttering the words to shrink their products. Magic swirled in the air around everyone, tasting sweet and bringing a sensation of freshness. 

Lily and James told the boys that they’d gather the needed potions ingredients, Lily mostly wanting to catch up with the owner of the apothecary, with who she was good friends. Now departed from their parents, Harry and Charlus were left at Madame Malkins to get fitted for school robes. 

The pair were not alone. A smaller boy, who looked to be around their age, stood on a platform. He had platinum blonde hair that framed an equally pale face. His features could be described as pointed, but it was obvious that he was going to be quite handsome as an adult. The boy’s grey eyes landed on the twins and they widened. 

“The Boys-Who-Lived!” Cried Draco Malfoy. 

He was right about who they were of course, but it made the twins uncomfortable nonetheless. “Uh… yeah, who are you?” Harry asked.

“Draco Malfoy, heir apparent of the Malfoy family,” the boy (Draco, Harry supposed) stated, straightening and attempting to look as regal as he could while being surrounded with rapidly flying tape measures. One of the named magical devices prodded Draco’s arm into a straight position much to the blonde’s annoyance. 

The twins glanced at each other. They both knew that the elder Malfoy was one of the dark lord’s followers, no matter how much the man denied it. However, Harry wanted to give the boy benefit of the doubt. 

“To be introduced formally,” Harry smiled, “I’m Harry Potter, and this is my brother, Charlus.” The mentioned brother looked guarded, obviously not as open to the son of a death eater as Harry was. 

Draco smiled back, friendly enough without the pureblood haughtiness he normally would have carried. It was obvious he was desperate to make friends with the famous Potter twins, and Harry thought it was quite funny. Presumably, they were supposed to hate each other’s guts.

“Have any idea which house you two will go into?” Draco prodded. Madame Malkin herself had entered the room again, Draco’s robes in hand. The boy hopped off the platform. 

“Gryffindor, of course!” Charlus declared. In Harry’s opinion, he was a perfect fit for the house, as if he was bred for it. 

Draco sighed. “That’s no surprise, I suppose,” he then looked at Harry. “You?” Madame Malkin smiled to herself at the boys’ interactions, most likely used to this sort of conversation.

The child in question shrugged. In all honesty, he thought himself a perfect fit for Ravenclaw, but couldn’t imagine being surrounded by children who studied all day. Growing up with Charlus had left Harry used to his hyperactive way of behaving. “I want to say Ravenclaw, but I really have no idea. I suppose I could see myself in Slytherin—”

The blonde’s eyes lit up like a fireplace after incendio. “Oh, that would be wonderful! There’s no other place I could go, you see, and it would be great to have someone new there…” he trailed off, eyes dulling after seeing his parents waiting outside.

The twins turned to see what cut Draco off, and immediately Harry recognized Lucius Malfoy. Using what Sirius had described him as (tall, supercilious, obvious stick up his are, it was obvious. Harry had of course found Sirius' statement quite funny, and now he could definitely make the connection after seeing the man in person. 

Draco deflated, quickly bidding the twins goodbye and hurrying to the couple outside, not wanting his parents to wait any longer. 

Charlus was obviously glad the boy was gone. He turned to his brother, worriment clear in his hazel eyes. “Harry, do you really think you could be in Slytherin?” 

Harry was beckoned by Madame Malkin onto the platform to get fitted for his own robes. As he climbed onto the platform, he explained. “I mean, I think so? You know I’m not like you and dad at least. Mom told me she’s friends with the head of the house… it can’t be all that bad.”

Charlus looked unsure at that statement.

Within the next half hour the Potter twins finished their fittings, paying with the galleons Lily and James had given them. Madame Malkin had been impressed by the twin’s polite manners, insisting they come back later in the year for more robes, the next time with their parents. After escaping the woman, the pair headed for Flourish and Blotts (or Flotts, as Charlus suggested), the popular bookstore that would most likely sell what the boy’s needed.

Entering the store, Harry was suddenly grateful that they had extra money. He immediately zeroed in on subjects he knew wouldn’t be taught early on in Hogwarts. These included ancient runes, dueling, and arithmancy. Sirius himself taught dueling, and would probably teach Harry if he asked, but the boy felt safer teaching himself first, knowing that Sirius would not let up. Remus taught defense against the dark arts, a class Harry knew neither himself or Charlus would have trouble in. 

He chose a few books on the later-taught subjects before grabbing what was necessary. He had to pull Charlus away from The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, as he was snickering at the section about themselves. 

Harry ended the trip to Flotts quicker than he had wished, knowing the next stop was to receive their wands... this was an event the twins had dreamed about for years. The pair made their way to Ollivanders, not before stopping to ogle at the new brooms in windows along the way.

As the brothers arrived, Harry observed the store. Ollivanders had a run-down storefront, a single dusty wand on a platform in the outward-facing bay window. There was an odd aura to the building, as if the store remembered all the people who had ever come through its doors. Harry spotted James and Lily talking animatedly to an old man who was just within the doors. As the pair hurried towards their destination, the couple waved them in. 

“This is Ollivander, boys. Gave us our very first wands, as well.” James looked on in fondness, touching the dark wood of the wand in his hand. 

The man, who seemed exceedingly frail, nodded and tapped his temple. “11", Mahogany, pliable, if I remember correctly… very well-suited for transfiguration?” 

The boy’s father nodded happily. “Oh, yes! Merlin knows I put that to use,” he winked at Harry and Charlus. 

Ollivander looked towards Lily, smiling in his knowing way. “10 and a fourth", Willow, attuned for healing and charms, swishy!” He exclaimed, much to Lily’s amusement.

“I’m part of the head healing team at St. Mungos,” Lily explained, “My wand has helped me so much throughout that whole experience!”

The old man nodded, and again Harry saw that knowing look in his eyes. “The wand chooses the wizard, dear… Now! Let’s get these boys their own, yes?”

The family finally entered the store then. Harry noticed (not for the first time) that magic permeated the bricks of the store itself, exposed beams carried the weight of hundreds, if not thousands, of years of magic. Shelves upon shelves houses powerful instruments, and Harry was nervous; not knowing if he should feel a pull already.

Charlus seemed to sense the same as Harry did, giving his brother a look that said “holy shit!”

Ollivander immediately got down to business, asking Charlus which hand was his preferred. After the boy held out his left, Ollivander hummed and pulled down a wand from one of the top shelves. “Blackthorn and unicorn hair, 11”, quite flexible.”

The moment Charlus reached for the wand it twisted away from him, emitting sparks the color of rot. Ollivander chuckled at the look on Charlus’ face (one of bewilderment) before turning away to search for another. “Definitely not. Let’s see…” 

This went on for a while, and Harry was beginning to fear for his own match (also about whether or not they'd starve before his brother found a match). Finally, however, Ollivander pulled down a wand from the dustiest corner of his shop. “This wand is very old, but… I wonder…”

“Aspen and phoenix feather, 12”, flexible to a low degree…” 

As Charlus reach for the wand, it snapped into his hand. Warmth filled the room, magic filling Charlus’ being. Smiling, he said softly, “This is it. This is the one.”

Ollivander nodded pensively, staring at Charlus. “This is the brother wand of one Albus Dumbledore. This phoenix feather came from a creature that hasn’t been seen since the 1880s… this is a very powerful wand, young man. This is one for revolutionaries. You will go on to do great things…” 

Charlus looked in awe at the wand in his hand. It was a very light color, the hilt almost looking as if the wood had been intertwined with gold. He felt… unsure about his worthiness for such a wand. He turned to Harry, looking as if he was going to cry. Harry did suppose that being compared to Albus Dumbledore himself was too much for an 11 year-old. 

Next up was Harry, who was extremely anxious about this whole ordeal. Ollivander sized him up, asking “Which arm do you prefer?” To which Harry held up his right hand. 

The old man hummed thoughtfully, turning swiftly around and grabbing a wand box off a middle shelf that seemed very new. “Beech wood, 12” and a half, wise beyond its years…”

Harry grabbed the wand, and a shrieking sound was heard throughout the shop. Startled, he dropped it.

“Dear merlin, no. That was awful. Let’s see here…” This scene, much like Charlus’ before, went on for a time period that seemed to last for hours. The elder Potters were getting antsy, and Charlus had long disappeared into the back rooms, most likely doing something he shouldn’t. 

Finally, Ollivander produced a wand that Harry felt an immediate pull to. When unsheathed, the wand was surrounded by a haze that Harry decided felt familiar—and good. He reached for it subconsciously, and was filled with that unparalleled feeling of reward. This wand was the one destined for him. 

Ollivander clapped loudly, jarring Harry enough from his focus on the stick of wood. “Interesting! That wand, much like dear Charlus’, is the brother to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Holly and phoenix feather, 11” long… suitable for wide ranges of magic… though, I feel you will carve yourself a path with this instrument whether the wand likes it or not.”

Now, this was odd. However, Ollivander kicked the Potters out of his shop, muttering about “damn complicated children.”

Harry finally had his wand, and within a month, would be studying magic at Hogwarts.

 

Percy Jackson was 11, barely finishing 6th grade, and he was pissed. It was supposed to be the start of summer, a time for celebration and vacation. Instead, he was stuck with bastard-of-a-man Gabe and Antigone in an apartment that suited maybe 1 person, not 4. To make it all worse, his mother was gone.

Percy is what most would call a momma’s boy, and he lived up to it. He idolized the woman, admired her for her work and for the fact that she took care of her children, despite her marriage to a man who did not deserve her. She worked long hours to provide, even if most of the money went up Gabe’s ass. 

Yet Percy couldn’t do anything about this part of his life. That lack of control bothered him, and he wished for days on end that something—anything could take him away from their family. 

Sometimes, he even wished he could do it himself.

But for now, Gabe had to stay. It would just be Anti and Percy for a few hours until Sally came home. Percy had scars from the times he had been alone with the man, and he knew Anti did too... she was just more secretive about it, which worried Percy. 

Usually the man would hold off when both were home, but there was an edge in the air that only came when the man had been drinking more than usual. As Percy entered the small room that’s served as both his and Antigone, he recognized the burn marks on the dirty carpet. 

Cigarettes. These marks were reminiscent of times when Gabe was too nervous to lay hand on the children—needless to say, those nerves faded quickly. 

Beer cans were strewn about the room, most leaking stale liquid onto the nasty floor. Percy sighed before falling onto the bed squeezed between a dresser and a wall. He stared at the ceiling, analyzing the various stains that Percy swore changed every night.

His intense brooding was soon interrupted by yelling coming from the dining room (where Gabe had been hosting his poker game). Nervous, Percy tiptoed to the doorway of the room, seeing Antigone.

The siblings were very similar in looks, but where Percy’s hair was inky black, Antigone had taken after their mother; brown locks that were notoriously hard to keep contained. However, the children did share the same shade of blue-green for their eyes. Much to Percy’s ire, they never let him hide any emotion.

But looking at the seen in front of him, Antigone hadn’t even attempted to hide hers. She had taken the taxi from her school and was currently being coerced into giving up the remnants of the $20 bill. Huffing and throwing her hands in the air, she threw the money at Gabe before heading towards Percy with a look in her eyes he knew well.

Percy darted for their room, happy to see his sister, but still anxious. Antigone saw him, her eyes softening. “Hey butthead, how was your year?”

The younger Jackson smiled, his fear that she would just rant dissipating. “It was a year. I missed you, Anti,” he exclaimed, moving in for a hug. Antigone grinned in response, embracing her brother.

“I caused mayhem at my school, as promised… but there’s something I need to share with you.” Antigone suddenly grew serious, Percy noticing a tremor in her that wasn’t present before. She breathed deeply out before continuing. “I think… there’s something bad following us. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there was always something wrong about all those encounters…”

She paused, allowing Percy to think. He remembered when he was younger an incident involving a man who had tried to take his sister and him. No matter what, they could never make out his face, features like two eyes having blurred into one. Whatever Antigone was saying, Percy knew immediately that it was important. 

“I had a run in with another… thing like that. Someone who managed to weasel their way into my life and then attack me. I know you have to be like me, Percy, and we need to get our before—”

Antigone had gotten almost desperate and it was scaring her brother. The tremor mentioned before had grown. However, all was interrupted by Sally Jackson’s appearance in the doorway to their room. Both siblings jumped up and ran to hug their mother, serious talk forgotten for now. 

“Mom! I thought you’d be home later!” Antigone cried, burying her face into her mother’s shirt, breathing in her scent. It had been too long since she had been home. 

Sally smiled tiredly, tousling Percy’s hair much to his chagrin. “I decided I needed to be home for you two. In fact, I have something planned,” she began, all tiredness leaving her. “I booked the cabin in Montauk, just for the three of us!”

Antigone, who had pulled back from Sally, glancing excitedly at Percy, who was just as happy about the new development. The trio hadn’t been to the cabin in years, money usually being short on hand, as well as time. Yet it seemed like this would be a treat not had for years—exactly what they all needed. 

Before long, things were packed and the Jacksons were all hurrying towards the door, ready to leave Gabe behind.

However, nothing was ever simple and quick when he was around.

The man had noticed the twins packing, and was suspicious as to why they were leaving so soon. Sally had tried to explain that it was a surprise, but Gabe was having none of it.

He hit Sally Jackson, not for the first time. The situation had only deteriorated from there, the siblings helping their mother up before bolting for the door. Now, the trio were sitting silently in Gabe’s car (which they had stolen).

“Mom, we need to get rid of him,” Percy began. Antigone shot him a warning glance about going further, but he plowed forward. “He has done so much to us—all of us, but especially you. You don’t deserve this, please—”

And that was when the minotaur slammed into the car. 

Percy was in and out of consciousness for a while, only remembering vague images of something inhuman: ten feet tall, the head and legs of a bull, but the torso of a man. Before he was out again, Percy could have sworn he saw Grover, his sister’s best friend.

Other than those images, he had no idea what had happened or where he was when he woke up. When he did, the room was empty and he ached. Not only did that ache feel like a giant bruise all over his body, but there was an empty feeling in his heart, as if someone he loved dearly was gone.

Remembering what must have been a crash, Percy shot up before clutching his head, which had burst into a headache, winding him. He was shoeless, his clothes ripped and just overall ragged. Nevertheless, he jumped off his cot and stumbled to the door, trying to figure out where he was. 

The hall was what he’d call normal, if a bit worn. It ended in a large open room that led outside. Once in the doorway outside, he froze.

Wherever he was, it overlooked fields and fields of strawberry plants, kids his age and older tending to them. There were cabins arranged in a semicircle around what seemed to be a bonfire. It was midday, the sun bright and the sky clear. Curiously, he noted, clouds looked to skirt around the edges of an invisible forcefield surrounding the… camp, Percy decided. 

The next thing he noticed was his sister, sitting at a picnic table with a blonde girl, Grover, and… a horse? No, a man. 

Confused, but not willing to question it, he headed towards the party. Pain jolted up his legs with every step. Antigone looked to be in a heated conversation, but she froze when she caught sight of Percy. 

“Oh my god, what are you doing up?!” She appealed, looking her younger brother up and down with worried eyes. “You took it the worst, it was awful…” She trailed off, misty-eyed at an event Percy didn’t know. 

The other three (including the horse-man) also seemed surprised at Percy being wake. Sure, he was in a fuck-ton of pain, but he could handle that, and has before. He wordlessly sat next to the spot Antigone had vacated before. Percy carefully stretched out his leg, wincing as pain tore through his knee. 

“How are you even walking? We haven’t even—” the blonde girl started, impressed. 

Antigone cut in, standoffish. “We’ve both handled our fair share of pain. Why didn’t you treat him as you did with me?”

The blonde narrowed her eyes, not appreciating being spoken to with that tone. Standing to Antigone, she said “We didn’t know if he was a demigod, ambrosia would have burned him alive. You don’t know anything, so don’t start.” 

The horse-man stopped her, no matter the girl looking as if she had a lot more to say. “Annabeth, stop. He made it into the camp, so he’s most definitely a demigod,” he stated calmly. Percy noted the girls name, as well as the strange word the man had use. Demigod?

“Percy, we have a lot to explain,” Antigone started, touching him tentatively. “A lot.”

And explain they did. The horse-man was named Chiron, the centaur from legend who had taught hundreds of demigods before. Demigods, or half-bloods, were the children the gods of Olympus had had with mortals on earth. 

Percy had inquired as to how they knew he and Antigone had been such. Grover stared at the ground before explaining that the camp had eyes on them for quite a while, keeping tabs on the siblings as they grew. Next, Grover explained that as demigods grew older their “scent” grew stronger, attracting monsters. 

That explanation made more sense than Percy cared to admit. 

Antigone and Percy were currently unclaimed, with no god to their name. Chiron obviously had an idea as to who their father was, but kept it to himself. Percy decided to approach him about that at a later date. 

The worst news came last.  
“Percy… our mom, she—” Antigone’s voice shuddered and she couldn’t go on. Grover put a comforting arm around her before looking at Chiron, as if saying “This is your job.”

Annabeth wisely didn’t speak up, which was probably for the best. Antigone obviously didn’t think highly of her, and that feeling transferred to Percy. 

“Your mother, Sally Jackson, gave her life to save the both of you.” 

Percy’s world imploded. Coupled with the pain he had been ignoring, the boy promptly passed out.

The next time he awoke he wasn’t alone. Annabeth hovered over him, holding a spoon of something that Percy was obviously supposed to ingest. At this point, he didn’t care, taking the spoonful.

In the next few seconds, Percy’s mouth exploded in flavor. His mother’s chocolate chip cookies, the sourest candy she could find (Percy was a sour connoisseur), and the simple warmth of fire lit on the Montauk beach. Immediately, Percy felt better. He knew that whatever it was, the substance was dangerous, and addictive. 

Annabeth stepped back as Percy sat up, this time not winding himself by the simple movement. “You took that much better than your sister did. She’s messy.”

Percy laughed a little. ”Oh yeah, she’s been like that since we were little, our mom—” he stopped abruptly. Oh yeah. 

The blonde smiled sadly. “I know what it’s like to lose someone, too. I lost my… family,” she had stumbled on the word “family,” but Percy decided not to ask. “If you need someone to talk to, you can always ask me or Luke. He’s the tall blonde one with the scar… I promise he’s not as intimidating as he appears.”

Percy filed that information away for later, not knowing how he’d feel in the future. Who knows, maybe he would need some support. 

Annabeth then led Percy on a tour around the camp which was appropriately named “Camp Half-Blood.” She showed him the food court and gave a brief tour of the cabins, stopping in front of a run-down simple wood one. A number “11” was engraved above the door, strangely glowing. 

Once the duo stepped in, Percy was overcome by the amount of people staring at him. Several children of all races and in various states of dishevelment stared at him and Annabeth. Nervously coughing, the girl bid him adieu. 

An older boy stepped over a sleeping bag to greet Percy. He was a good height, with blonde hair cut short and a scar that ran over one eye. This must be the Luke Annabeth had mentioned. 

“Welcome to the Hermes cabin!”

The next few weeks passed quickly, Percy and Antigone sleeping back to back every night in a small space they shared. They were introduced to weapons as well, the two finding themselves very well attuned to swords. However, an event called “capture the flag” was approaching.

As Luke had explained (Percy had become attached to the older boy, eager to learn all he had to teach), the game was simple: capture the other team’s flag. However, the Hermes cabin was going up against the Athena cabin this time, and things were supposed to be intense. As he had never faced any real battle, the prospect of real swords and other weapons scared him. Percy was sure that Antigone was just as nervous, but she hid it well.

As the night came closer, that nervous feeling in the pit of Percy’s stomach grew, doubling at once as silence fell over the dining hall.

Chiron had stood, a small smile on his bearded face. “Tonight’s capture the flag will begin shortly. I expect fair games between all… preparations commence!”

Everyone scattered, Luke tugging Percy (and thus, Antigone) to the cabin. They were then equipped with blades, simple and worn celestial bronze. Armor was also provided, although it was ill-fitted and made with thick leather, difficult to move in. 

Luke apologized, explaining that the older campers got better armor, and that the Hermes cabin was overcrowded, there not being enough supplies for everyone. Something off flickered across the demigod’s face when he said that, catching Percy’s attention. 

However, it was soon forgotten when a horn sounded. The trio made their way to a clearing, on either side of which were demigods ready for battle. Chiron sounded his horn again, the sound searing its way into Percy’s memories. Capture the flag had begun. 

Luke immediately headed into the woods, beckoning the siblings to follow him. As they walked, he spoke “I’m going to position you two at the flag itself. You won’t see too much action, if all goes to plan, but there’s always a chance, y’know?” Luke stopped by a creek, pointing to where a simple flag stood pushed into the earth. A small creek flowed nearby, good positioning for if an enemy managed to sneak by, as the water would make sound no matter what. 

He bid the two good luck and promptly disappeared into the forest, most likely going to go kick ass. 

Antigone and Percy stared at each other before the elder sighed, plopping down onto the ground and removing her helmet. Percy opted to stand, toeing a rock. 

“This sucks so freaking much.” Antigone stated it matter-of-factly, leaving no room to argue, not that Percy wanted to. He wholeheartedly agreed. He had wanted to at least do something, not stand around and wait for an ambush that probably wouldn’t even happen.

However, it seemed that they had spoken too soon. Percy heard steps before spinning around, looking towards the creek. There was a small group of about 4, all brawny. Antigone whispered to Percy, “Clarisse and her brothers. They’re the kids of Ares.”

“Of course he’d leave the new kids at the flag,” the daughter of war lamented, “This will be too easy.” With that, Antigone drew herself up, forgetting her helmet and readying her blade. Percy felt foolish as the only one with the silly plumed headgear, losing his as well. Steadying himself, he, too, drew his blade. 

Clarisse smiled, leaping forward to start the battle. Blades clashed, foul words exchanged as each thrust was parried and pushed back, the Jacksons managing to hold off their assailants. Annabeth almost seemed stunned as her group was pushed back.

More people (mostly those on Luke’s side) gathered to watch, cheering on “the new kids.”

However, Antigone made a mistake, falling. Percy then was alone, soon being thrust to the ground as well. He joined his sister in the creek.

Strangely, however, instead of the bone-tired he had been expecting after his small fight, Percy felt energized. He could feel Antigone was as well. 

The children of Ares pushed forward, preparing themselves to fight against the group that had before gathered to watch. Almost as Clarisse had left the creek, Percy reached out, tripping her. 

Antigone and Percy stood, readying themselves for another fight that promptly took place. 

In all honesty, Percy knew his bout of adrenaline would fade. However, to his surprise—it didn’t. The Ares kids were tiring, and the sibling's cabin mates cheered Percy and his sister on. That rush Percy felt stayed, any nervousness about the situation fading as determination took its place. 

Just as the duo had disarmed Clarisse and her siblings, all went silent. While the battle had taken place, it seemed as if cheering had drawn more campers to the area, including Luke and Annabeth themselves. Percy and Antigone took notice of the silence and froze before turning.

A hellhound had made its appearance in the woods behind the creek. Blood red eyes and a black coat that betrayed powerful muscles, the monster was a sight to behold—which made it all the more terrifying. Before either sibling had a choice, it lunged straight for Antigone.

Percy panicked, as his sister fell with the beast on top of her, wishing that he could help, just do anything. 

This was the same sort of helplessness he felt around Gabe. Yet now Percy knew he had the power to stop it, to do something this time. 

He thrust his hands out, the water in the creek reacting in time. Gasps were heard as ice shards punctured the hellhound’s side, causing it to burst into golden dust that coated the girl underneath.

When Percy managed to sneak a look at his sister, all he saw was blood. 

Chiron had his bow ready, appearing at once when the monster had come. He lowered it, watching the scene unfold further.

Percy, too, stood silent as water coated his sister, falling away to leave clear skin—no blood, no marks. Robotically, he helped her up, the two standing side by side in the creek. Utterly alone. 

Silence still permeated the air as twin signs floated above their heads—two tridents, identical.

Awe and shock were written across the camper’s faces, all while Luke and Chiron were curiously unsurprised. 

“Children of Poseidon: earthshaker, stormbringer, father of horses. Hail, Perseus and Antigone Jackson, children of the Sea God.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES: There are some spells used that were created by Snape in the books. However, due to the fact that they are needed before that textbook was found, I will be disregarding that, lol  
> As well as that change, I have decided to post each part of the chapter independently of each other. This means that Harry’s and Percy’s parts will be separate chapters until they meet. Now, that will be a while, so please don’t expect the true crossover to start soon. Enjoy!
> 
> This chapter turned out much longer than I had eventually thought it would be… though, that is becoming the case more and more often.
> 
> Oh, and please notify me of any mistakes! I will try to fix them ASAP.

Harry’s day began uneventfully, contrary to what he had expected. Charlus had woken up earlier than usual, as was normal, yet instead of bothering Harry, he quietly got together everything he’d need for the year.

This somewhat worried the older twin. His brother had never been one to go about things without enthusiasm—especially on a day as important as this. September 1st was supposed to be a day remembered for the rest of the time the boys went to Hogwarts.

This worry about Charlus was how Harry ended up with his brother in an ecstatic mood, unable to control himself. He had gone seeking out his younger brother—finding him in the back garden of Potter Manor. Speaking to a snake. 

“Yes, I know! I’m supposed to be excited, but I just…” Charlus trailed off, turning away from the snake. And that is how he saw Harry.

Charlus flushed an unhealthy shade of red. He spluttered for a second before he was able to talk. “H-hey Harry, um, did you see…?” he questioned softly. 

If he was to be honest, Harry wanted to say no. However, when thinking it through, he knew that if he lied his brother would always stay on guard around him. And that was not acceptable. So, Harry told the truth. 

“Yeah, I did—” he started. Charlus cut him off, words frantic at first.

“Please, please don’t tell mom or dad! You know how they feel about… these sort of abilities.” His voice softened nearing the end of his sentence, reflection evident. Harry knew what he meant.

James especially harbored an intense hate for anything Slytherin related, going as far as to harass people he knew to belong to the house. Harry thought it a dangerous view to have, especially for one serving within the aurors. That sort of hate would only intensify in an environment that allowed it to. 

There was no situation in which Harry would wish that upon his brother, no matter what arguments the pair may have. Plus… Harry suspected he too had the gift. Why else would he have understood the words his brother and the snake exchanged?

Thinking quickly, he focused on the memory of his brother speaking. Hopefully, with a clear idea of the infliction upon his tongue, he’d be able to speak the language as well.

“Don’t worry, you and I can carry this secret together.” The words were serpentine, sliding off his tongue easily. The syllables themselves rolled, and Harry would have called it beautiful. He grinned widely as he finished his sentence, absorbing the shocked look on his brother’s face. 

Slowly, Charlus’ face morphed into his signature grin, lopsided in an endearing way. His hazel eyes gleamed in a mischievous light. “You know what this means!” The younger twin began to brighten up. He jumped from his previous position standing with the snake into a run, bounding back to the Manor. 

“We have to make plans! This is amazing, just think, Hogwarts… we’ll be able to do so much with this…” he kept trailing off midsentence, as if already formulating what mayhem the two would be able to cause, just as James probably wanted.

Harry smiled at Charlus’ retreating form. Before, he had hoped for a relatively uneventful year, but it seemed that those plans had gone out the window. Slowly, he began to retreat to the manor just as is brother had.

-

Platform 9 ¾ was crowded in a way that the Potter twins were not used to. Many would have thought that they’d have been exposed to this sort of publicity form a young age, but their upbringing stopped that from occurring.

The twins had traveled Europe, the Americas, and even most Asian countries, never staying in one place before settling down at Potter Manor. They had been very young, of course, but that hadn’t stopped them from enjoying the experiences. James and Lily Potter had used the trip to see more than their old life allowed.

In Britain, things were stagnant. It was static, purebloods always lobbying against those who dared to introduce something new. Perhaps that was what brought Voldemort to the limelight—a man who was willing to go to the lengths needed to keep things the way they had been for hundreds of years. 

Now, James and Lily taught their twins that they had the power to bring change. They were the ones who (hopefully) would be able to bring their society out of the rut it had made its home in. 

Of course, none of this had been actually said to the brothers. It was Harry who noticed what their parents attempted to teach them, and he had passed it on to Charlus. 

Harry was brought out of his thoughts by his parents hugging him. “We need you to keep Charlus out of trouble,” Lily began lightly. “You’re the sensible one, and you know how he gets.”

“But don’t be afraid to have some fun yourself!” James added, winking. Harry smiled a bit at his father.  
“I really don’t think I can live up to how you guys were,” Harry started. Lily whirled around from her position greeting a few other mothers, a look on her face that neither Harry nor Charlus had seen before. 

“James!” She hissed; voice strangely reminiscent of parseltongue. “When did you—”

James rushed to calm her. “I didn’t! I didn’t, lily-flower, I swear—” he was frantic, and it was quite funny if Harry was to be honest.

Harry finally decided to cut in. “Sirius did it! He talked about the marauders, and the map, and about…” He trailed off when he saw Charlus approach them, another redhead in tow. Harry smiled and held a finger over his mouth to symbolize his vow of secrecy. Lily laughed, allowing her husband to let out a sigh. 

Charlus approached with the normal bounce in his step, hurriedly introducing his new friend. “This is Ron, Weasley, he’s in the same year as we are!” His eyes were alight with a sort of childish happiness. 

Lily looked kindly down at the boy. “I think I used to know your parents… Arthur and Molly Weasley, right?” 

“Yeah, um… you’re the Potters?” Ron, as Harry’s brother had introduced him, smiled in a strained way.

Charlus answered his friend affirmatively, introducing everyone to the other boy. “Oh, and this is my brother, Harry!” 

The older twin shook Ron’s suspiciously damp hand. The boy had brown eyes, as well as orange freckles that contrasted greatly with his pale skin. However, before Harry could say anything in return (all he had time for was an awkward smile) their group was interrupted. 

“Where is that—oh! Ron, dear, who is…?”the woman trailed off, finally seeing who her son had met. “James, Lily! I hadn’t heard that you four finally made it back to Britain… Lily, dear, it’s been a while!” she exclaimed, moving in for an embrace.

Lily laughed and hugged the woman back. “We’ve been back for a few years now, Molly… James and I decided it’d be best to keep a low profile, for the boys.”

“Speaking of which!” Lily gestured to Harry first. “This is Harry, the one who stays out of trouble…” She said it in an endearing way, so Harry didn’t feel too offended.

“And this one,” James popped in, “is Charlus, the troublemaker of the two!” 

The boy blushed at that and decided to stare down at his shoes. 

Molly found his actions charming, pulling the younger twin into a hug. “Such sweet boys!” She pulled away and Harry stared at his brother, finding the look on his face to be hilarious. However, he, too, was engulfed in the plump’s woman’s arms. His brother looked smug.

The woman pulled way. “My own sons are as mischievous as they get. Thank heavens, Ron hasn’t taken after the twins…” She trailed off, staring at her younger son.

“Ron! Clean your nose, you’ll be getting on the train soon.” The woman took out a cloth she had been carrying in a patchwork oversized bag and began rubbing Ron’s nose. 

The redhead turned beet red at his mother’s actions, but wisely didn’t try to force her away. 

Molly finished her work and turned back to the bemused Potters. “Children…” she sighed.

-

Harry had finally made his way onto the train. He had managed to escape the fate of his brother, who (last Harry saw) had been in the midst of the Weasley clan, looking like he had become part of the family. 

He wandered through the train looking for an empty compartment. Most were filled to the brim with chattering teens and children. Occasionally, one would spot Harry and break into whispers. 

As he traveled down the train, he began to hear whispers. “The boys-who-lived are on the Hogwarts Express!”

Harry didn’t particularly understand why that was so important. He, just like his brother, were just eleven-year-olds. Sure, they may have (supposedly?) vanquished a dark lord, but they were still children. Harry just hoped that the people of Hogwarts didn’t have expectations for them. 

Trying to avoid the more boisterous compartments, Harry finally stumbled on one that was mostly empty.

There were two girls and an equal number of boys in the space, talking quietly and playing a game of wizarding chess. Conversation stopped when Harry entered.

“Hey,” he started. “I’m Harry Potter.”

The four occupants stared at him, and suddenly Harry felt very awkward. However, to save him from what would most likely be an embarrassing “I’ll leave, sorry,” a boy spoke.

He had darker skin, mocha and smooth. His eyes were sharp and mahogany, while the rest of his features were pureblood and refined. 

“Blaise Zabini.” His words weren’t necessarily clipped, or even cold, but there was an air of indifference. 

Of course, Harry recognized the name. The boy’s mother had to be Ornella Zabini—who was known as a black widow—a woman who had 7 husbands, each dying mysteriously. There were rumors that she was onto her 8th husband. However, Harry wanted to give the boy a chance.

So, he stuck out his hand and smiled.

Blaise accepted gracefully, a smile tugging at his full lips. He then introduced Harry to the other members of the compartment. 

“Daphne Greengrass,” he waved at a blonde girl. Her hair was golden and wavy, with eyes a mossy and dark green. She had a smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose. She sent a sweet smile at Harry, but he could sense that there was more to her than sweetness.

Tracey Davis introduced herself. She was a bubbly girl with shoulder length wavy dirty blonde hair and her eyes were brown, betraying a startling amount of intelligence. “I’m Tracey! A halfblood, so you won’t recognize my surname, but that’s fine! I’ve read all about—” the other boy in the room cut her off. 

“She’s also a bit of a chatterbox, as you can tell,” the boy began. He was thin and bony with soft brown hair that fell in his eyes. However, his eyes were a surprising shade of blue. “I’m Theodore Nott. If we actually become friends, you can call me Theo.”

Harry found that to be somewhat of a challenge. 

In the next few hours it had become apparent that Harry fit into their group well, as if he had always been part. Throughout the trip they had all opened up to Harry, going as far as to greet Charlus as he walked past, Ron in tow. However, Ron had seen Blaise and immediately bolted. 

Contrary to what Harry had thought at first, Blaise revealed himself to be exceptionally funny, talented with wit sharp enough to cut through Harry’s aunt’s infamous steak. Daphne mirrored this, albeit underneath lay scathing remarks.

Harry quickly discovered that Daphne was not to be trifled with. Anything said about her family (and Tracey, interestingly enough) was met with venom. Nott was similar, though he was quiet in a particular way that was unsettling. Harry felt as if he could feel the boy’s magic simmering underneath his skin.

Tracey happened to be a ray of sunshine masking a true prodigy underneath. Harry considered himself to be knowledgeable of magic (or, at least as much as an 11-year-old can be), yet Tracey blew him out of the water in every discussion. Her only problem was a lack of ability to implement what she knew—and Harry agreed to help train her, as long as she could try what she discovers on him. 

That conversation had been a humorous one. Tracey had presented herself as a mad scientist, quite realistically, and it had ended with the compartment in peals of laughter. 

-

Several hours later Harry found himself just outside the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

A voice startled Harry out of his thoughts. A girl with dark bushy hair and darker skin stood next to him. She leaned closer and thrust her hand out. 

“You look interesting. I’m Hermione Granger.” She was curt and to the point, which Harry appreciated. After shaking her hand he introduced himself. 

“I’m Harry Potter. You also look interesting.” At that, the other girl cracked a smile, showing off teeth that were just slightly bigger than the norm. 

“I met your brother on the train,” she stated as her smile faded. “He was somewhat rude…” 

Harry sighed quietly, abandoning his wonderment for his surroundings. “Yeah, he can come off that way. I’m sorry for—” 

He was cut off by a sever woman clearing her voice. Her wizened and stern eyes searched over the 1st years, meeting Harry’s own. A small smile played at the edge of her lips, but it was gone in an instant. 

“I am Professor McGonagall. I will be teaching you for the next 7 years of your Hogwarts career. However, I will also be overseeing your sorting. Please follow me.”

She swept up the steps to the Great Hall, pausing once to sweep over the children once again. Then, she opened the grand doors.

As he and the rest of the 1st years walked in, the first thing that had caught his attention was, of course, the charmed ceiling.

It gleamed a midnight blue, thousands of stars twinkling in succession of each other. The few clouds that could be seen were wispy; they added to the overall effect. Harry, in what was not the first time in his life, vowed that one day he would be able to replicate the magic that had created such a beautiful piece.

Professor McGonagall began to speak once more, explaining the ceremony. “Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin are the houses you will all find yourself in,” she finished. Harry had missed most of her speech, too enraptured with the ceiling. 

It was then that he took in just how many people there were. Hundreds of students wearing robes of all sorts line the benches of the four tables. Each one had a small emblem on their robes showing what house the person belonged to.

Harry then turned to his sights to the staff table, committing each professor to memory. Sirius Black caught his eye and grinned widely; he sent Harry a wave that was not at all small or calm. 

However, when the eldest Potter twin met the eyes of a man wearing a turban, a pain seared through his chest, making it hard to breathe. He struggled for a second before the pain faded. He decided then to not even dare make eye contact with the man. 

McGonagall had begun to call out names some time before, each table already containing at least two new first years. Harry paid attention when Granger’s name was called. 

The hat took a couple minutes. Hermione’s eyes were scrunched closed and her brow was furrowed, as if she was arguing. She was tilted a bit on the stool and looked like she might fall off if she wasn’t careful.

Finally, the hat bellowed out “RAVENCLAW!”

With a small huff, the girl walked primly to her new table, quickly striking up a conversation with someone at her new table. 

Daphne was called next, and with an embarrassing start, Harry realized he had missed Tracey’s sorting due to the sudden pain in his chest when meeting the turban man’s eyes. Scanning the tables, he saw the bubbly girl sitting with the Slytherins. What Harry found interesting is that despite her blood status, she was not ostracized in the house. Or at least Harry thought it looked to be true. 

Daphne still sat upon the stool with the hat falling to cover her eyes. Because of this, Harry didn’t have an idea of what was happening between her and the hat. 

“SLYTHERIN!” The hat shouted, sounding exasperated. Daphne smirked smugly, making her way to the Slytherin table as everyone clapped politely. 

Several more 1st years were sorted, Gryffindor picking up more than Harry would assume was usual. However, it was known that lingering resentments and hero worship had led the house to having something like a monopoly. 

“Potter, Charlus!” 

The entire hall went silent as one of the boys-who-lived walked slowly to the stool. Harry saw the look on his face—he hated the attention. However, he was soon out of sight as the hate was plopped on his head.

Silence still reigned and weighed heavily around the hall as people waited with bated breath to see where he would end up. 

They hadn’t had to wait long. The hat opened the tear on its surface that acted as a mouth and roared (in a voice that seemed ridiculously loud in the quiet hall) “GRYFFINDOR!”

The red and gold table erupted into whoops and shouts of happiness, Charlus happily made his way to the table and was engulfed in a brood of red heads. He almost fit in. 

However, Harry’s own name was called next, met with the same silence that had plagued his brother’s sorting. 

Completely aware of everyone’s gaze upon his back, harry tried to get to the stool as normally as possible. He succeeded, was as nervous as he had ever been in his life. Harry made eye contact with McGonagall; she gave him a small smile that almost reassured the boy.

However, as soon as the hat was on his head those nerves soared back into him. 

“Ah, what’s this…? You don’t belong here.” The voice was disembodied, as if it was floating in Harry’s own mind. 

Harry concentrated hard, not wanting to speak out loud as he had seen some of the children do. “What?” 

“You were supposed to be… d—never mind that. You are here for now, and for a reason. Now, that reason…”

Harry wanted to stop the hat’s tirade before he went too far, but they were on somewhat of a time limit. He wouldn’t be able to get the hat to elaborate without taking more time than he had. So, he let the hat speak. 

“Yes, thank you for allowing me to get on with it... Now, you will be great no matter the house you go to, young one… Ravenclaw would allow you the peace and time to get everything done that you must…”

The hat knew more about Harry’s future than he was comfortable with. 

“Hufflepuff would give you the friends you so desperately want… but, no, that is not the house for you…” The voice made a sound like “Hrn.”

“Gryffindor…? No, your brother will rule that house with an iron fist. You have a different path…”

Harry wondered what the hat meant by the comment about his brother. The Gryffindor house was known for harboring the unruly, those who wanted to cause trouble. Generally, they didn’t take well to being controlled. 

“Tsk tsk, Harry, this is about you, not him. How about… Slytherin… you would do well there—”

“Yes!” Harry exclaimed in his mind. Both Tracey and Daphne had gone to the house, along with Theodore. There was no doubt in his mind that those 3 were going to be part of his group. He was also sure that Blaise would make it to the house, as there was no other that would suit him more. 

Harry had also been intrigued by the youngest Malfoy, who had gone to the green and silver house as soon as the hat had touched his platinum blonde hair. The boy was not the malicious, conniving type, and perhaps the older Potter twin could befriend him.

“Yes, I see it now. You will go on to do things that reach outside of our known world, Harry Potter. Better be SLYTHERIN!”

The last word was shouted, echoing across the hall. Harry caught Charlus’ gaze, his younger brother giving him a brief smile. However, Ron (who was seated next to Charlus) shook his head, muttering something into the younger twin’s ear. 

Harry turned his head away from the pair, heading towards the table that would be his new home for 7 years. 

He watched the remaining of the sorting while seated next to Tracey. The excitable girl commented on everything she saw and thought, but after a while Harry managed to block her out. 

Blaise was the last person to be sorted, making it into Slytherin as Harry knew he would. The boy sat next to him before commenting on the ceremony.

“That took a ridiculous amount of time, all for me to just sit under a thousand-year old hat. Merlin, I probably have lice now…”

The dark-skinned boy probably could have gone on if the headmaster, Dumbledore, hadn’t began to speak. 

Dumbledore wore oddly colored robes adorned with cats, each embroidered feline playing with its own yarn ball. “Here we are, about to begin our year at Hogwarts once again. As per usual, we have someone new on board to introduce. Please welcome Professor Quirrell.” 

A teacher who wore a turban wrapped around his head stood, the teachers around him wrinkling their noses as if he smelled.

Harry recognized the man immediately as the one who had given him the burn in his chest. Fearing the same reaction, he looked away. However, when doing that he met the eyes of Dumbledore himself. They twinkled in a merry way, making the man seem open and approachable. He winked at Harry before continuing after Quirrell sat.

“There are a few rules to mention as well. Courtesy of Filch, there is a list of banned items at the front of the hall,” Dumbledore gestured to the caretaker, who sat with a cat in his lap.

“This year, the 3rd floor corridor will be closed to all students. Do not enter unless you desire a slow and grisly death.”

With that, the hall erupted into whispers and outbursts of denial. Harry himself was taken aback, not knowing what to think. Even the upper years found it quite odd, even for the headmaster.

“What else should we expect,” Theodore spoke. He had chosen to sit next to Daphne across from Harry, on the end of the table. “The man is mad. Absolutely mad.” 

A few people murmured in agreement. After silence fell once again, Dumbledore began his speech once again.

“Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you." The bearded man sat as quickly as he had stood, which, with his age considered, was extremely fast. 

Food appeared on the table, and the Slytherins dug in with gusto. However, it was a sort of refined gusto that came with many lessons on manners and pureblood etiquette. 

-

The green-eyed child entered his dorm and took in his surroundings. The rooms were decorated tastefully, touches of silver and green adorning the dark wood of the four-poster beds. There were five in the spacious rooms, one in each corner with the fifth by the door to the bathroom. 

Now, if he were to choose that bed he would be kept up by the other boys entering and leaving the other room… so, he decided for the bed farthest from the door. Being the first to get there had its perks. 

As soon as Harry touched the wood of what he decided would be his room, the trunk he had packed and sent off that morning appeared. Harry had forgotten about his belongings, too excited about the prospect of starting school. 

After the trunk appeared, Harry crouched down to examine the pristine leather. The Slytherin emblem, an emerald green snake, adorned the front. It winkled in the light, and Harry thought it to be quite handsome. 

The other boys entered the room soon after Harry. He would be sharing the room with Theodore, Draco Malfoy, Blaise, and a hulk of boy who followed Draco like puppies.

They each chose their bed and had the trunk appear, and eventually the room elapsed into an awkward silence. They each shuffled around putting away the upcoming year’s supplies in their assigned desks and dressers. 

Harry watched Theodore at first. The boy moved with an awkward grace that he hadn’t yet grown into, and he had pulled out multiple odd-looking instruments that he placed on the dresser. One of the objects looked to be a two-way mirror, yet he hadn’t pulled its twin out yet.

The boy caught Harry looking and a sneer graced his features before he spoke. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of having our family members close to us in the castle.”

Harry was caught off guard by the hostility and it showed on his face. However, Theodore saw this and softened, turning away and putting more supplies away.

“I have a younger sister who isn’t in school yet. She begged me to take the mirror and talk to her every night,” he paused in his movements and caught the attention of the 3 boys who hadn’t yet spoke. “I hope you don’t mind that I might talk late at night.”

Blaise waved his hand in Theodore’s direction. “There’s a spell for that, you know? Muffliato.”

“You’ll have to teach me that,” Theodore flushed a bit in embarrassment as he spoke. 

Draco cut in here. “Oh, could you teach me too? If you don’t mind.” He was polite, almost overly so. 

Blaise gave the two a small smile.

-

The next day came too early for Harry’s taste. He had awoken to Blaise leaning over him, shaking his head. 

Blaise leaned back. “Wow, you sleep like a log.” 

Harry sat up and realized that the other boy was already fully dressed, ready for their first class. He jumped up and out of his bed, still in his snitch pajamas. 

“Merlin, what time is it?” He groaned. Theodore, near to the bathroom, cast a tempus. The numbers read 8:35, barely enough time to reach the Great Hall for breakfast before heading to class. 

Another downside of this situation was that Harry started the day with Potions, and there was no circumstance in which he would allow himself to leave a bad impression—especially on a man who would teach him for the next 7 years.

Making a split decision, he decided to take a short shower instead of heading to the hall for some food. He would have to go hungry for the beginning of classes. 

His shower didn’t take long, but the entire time Harry was reviewing what he knew about the potions class. He toweled himself off before dressing in his school robes (underneath were his muggle clothes) and washed his face in the sink. His mind ran through what his parents had told him of the professor. 

Severus Snape had been Lily’s best friend during her Hogwarts days, before their relationship had deteriorated rapidly. Harry’s mother had never told him about what transpired between the two, but whenever the man came up in conversation something would flicker in her eyes. 

James had often insulted him, too, and with that came insult to his work. Lily would stiffen at that. She worked with Severus still in some cases, both contributing greatly to their own respective fields. However, when combining their genius, the material made was groundbreaking. 

So, needless to say, Harry was extremely nervous for this class. Perhaps it would go well, but he was always worried about what his parentage would bring up, or even what Charlus would say. He had always been more influenced by their father. 

Harry finished up and headed out the door of his dorm, bag in tow, and was surprised to see Draco waiting outside. The boy was a bit surprised by Harry’s abrupt entrance into the hall, but jumped up with something in his hand.

“I saw that you were still asleep when the rest of us left for breakfast,” he handed what he was holding to Harry. After taking it, he unwrapped a piece of toast with butter and some sort of red jam.

“I figured that you’d appreciate being able to sleep longer, so we decided to leave you. I brought breakfast.” 

Harry blinked once before looking back up at the other boy/ Draco leaned against the frame of the door, a hopeful look in his eyes. 

He had obviously had a lonely childhood. 

The green-eyed boy didn’t know much about pureblood culture (at least not in depth), but he had known the bare essentials. Usually, a family had one heir, at the most there was a backup child. 

Draco was supposed to have been that backup child. He grew up without the tutors a political heir had needed, yet when tragedy befell his older brother, it had all crashed down on him. 

He had an older brother, one who took after Lucius. Or, at least, that’s what the prophet said the morning after the child’s death. When the Potters had been on the road—which was much of Harry’s life—James had loved to always have the fresh copy of the Prophet with him. He would say it reminded him of home.

However, Harry remembered when James read the front page of that day: 

“MALFOY HEIR: RAPED AND MURDERED”

James had gone quiet at the article, sharing the news with Lily. She shook her head and sighed softly before looking down at her lap. Her hands shook. Harry and Charlus had been happily finishing their breakfast before they parents shooed them out for “grownup talk.”

It was only later that night when Harry saw the headline. He had planned on sneaking into his parent’s room to surprise them, but stopped when he heard the couple talking. 

“Rodolphus Lestrange—his own nephew, can you believe?”

“Lily, its awful. But… this is why we left Britain. Our own sons weren’t safe there, either. I can’t imagine what they’re going through now…”

James’ voice faded in and out, as if he was pacing. “I’m going to send a gift to Lucius. He may have… had a past, but there is no excuse for this.”

He came closer and Harry froze by the door, not acting quickly enough to avoid being caught. His father exited the room and saw Harry. He crouched down to his son’s level before speaking softly, “We love you and your brother so much. Don’t ever doubt that, okay?” 

James then had led the boy back to Charlus.

Now, Harry gazed at the boy in front of him before smiling gratefully. “Thank you so much! I was just planning on going hungry but—thanks!”

Draco gave a small and brief smile before quickly heading down the hall and out of the common room. “Are you coming with me or not?”

-

Harry and Draco entered the potions classroom excitedly. They were the first students to arrive, so Harry took time to observe the room.

Due to the fact it was housed in the dungeons (relatively close to the Slytherin common room, compared to most other classrooms), it was perpetually chilly. The stone walls had been decorated with posters depicting the effects of potions on the person, as well as many diagrams that explained the reactions between several different herbs.

The pair chose seats closer to the front of the classroom, with a shared cauldron between them. The professor was nowhere to be seen.

Draco leaned closer to Harry to speak, glancing around the room. “The professor, Sev—er, Snape, is my godfather,” he grinned a bit, “he used to come around a lot to brew for my father, and he taught me some tricks…” he grabbed the silver knife that had been set on their table, most likely for preparing the materials for potions. 

“Like this, see,” The boy used the knife to crush something imaginary. “He said that when you need to use the juice of something, it’d be more efficient to crush rather than chop.”

Harry filed that away for future use. “That’s actually pretty cool, what else did he—” 

The elder Potter twin had been interrupted by his twin, which he found surprising. Harry had expected Charlus to be late, or almost late at the very least. 

“Harry! You weren’t at breakfast, what happened?”

The boy in question blushed pink, thinking about how he had expected his brother to be late when he was the one who would have been. “I slept in… on purpose, of course.” 

Draco laughed at that. “Harry wouldn’t have woken up if not for Zabini, trust me.”

The green-eyed boy made a face at his friend before looking back at Charlus. “Sure, yeah… But how was your first night?”

Charlus sighed and sat down heavily at the table next to Harry’s own. “I got dad’s old bed. He carved his name into it, but…” 

It went without saying: Wormtail had his name on a bed in the room too. After his betrayal had almost killed Harry and Charlus, James had gone out of his way to destroy any remnants of the man. He was still missing, 10 years later, though Harry suspected he knew what had become of the man.

Harry nodded understandingly at his brother, though he didn’t say anything out loud.

Charlus had entered with Ron, however, the boy had hung back, eyes on Draco. After what seemed to be an oddly long time, he finally took the seat by Charlus. 

More students filled the classroom bit by bit, Slytherins and Gryffindors usually ignoring one another in favor of sitting with people from their own house. The room was eerily quiet, and any small talk that had been in progress between Draco and Harry shut off quickly as the door slammed shut, Severus Snape entering the classroom. 

He swept in with his robes billowing behind him, cutting a striking figure amidst the children. The man didn’t bother to meet the gaze of anyone, and instead he cut a straight path up to the front of the class, ready to address the whole.

The man turned around, and Harry recognized him. Lily had photographs up around the house, ranging from her school days to her graduate courses. This man—Snape—was in a few, albeit it a bit younger.

His hooked nose was hard to forget, and his eyes were a deep black. Not only that, but he was a prominent figure, and would likely stand out even in room full of people (though Harry got the feeling he generally avoided those sort of situations).

“Here, there will not be much wand waving. This is a class for the subtle art of potion brewing—with the skills learnt in this classroom, you will be able brew potions that are extremely powerful. Of course,” he paused, eyes sweeping around the classroom before landing on a blonde boy nearer to the middle. “Not everyone will succeed.”

With a wave of his hand, words appeared upon the chalkboard behind him, outlining the goals of the course. Harry was surprised to see that it was an extremely practical class, almost every day potions would be brewed. 

Alongside that, the students would learn preservative and stasis charms in order to keep the longer-brewing potions fresh and safe. Harry jotted down a quick notes (mostly about exam dates and materials that were to be used).

Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry spotted the girl that had introduced herself during the sorting, Hermione. She was frantically writing down much more than everyone else was, yet appeared to still be paying attention to the professor’s explaining. 

However, Harry was snapped out of his observations when Draco pinched his arm, nudging him to look at the front. 

“He’s about to quiz us randomly, pay attention!” Draco urged quietly, eyes still glued to the front as he spoke. 

Draco had said the truth, and the first person Snape called on was the blonde boy he had seen earlier.

“Longbottom! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” 

The boy spluttered for a moment as if unsure of not only his answer, but himself as well. Hermione’s hand had shot into the air as soon the question had been asked, and while Snape had definitely noticed, he kept his eyes on who he had asked.

“Um, sir, I think… some sort of sleeping potion?” 

“Close. To be exact, the draught of living death would be produced, which we will be brewing later this year. Do study the textbook before next class.” 

His eyes landed close to Harry, on Charlus. As the older Potter twin watched, something flickered in his eyes. 

“Potter. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?” 

Charlus’ face was blank for a moment before he answered. “In the stomach of goat, sir, or your stores here if we are close enough.”

The professor nodded curtly. “Good. Now, Potter,” Snape turned towards Harry, the same looking in eyes as before. “Your brother has demonstrated his knowledge of the subject, so I expect for you to have as well. What are the differences between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

Harry’s mind whirled in a mild panic. Hurriedly, he answered with what he knew. “They are the same plant, sir… also known as aconite, I believe?”

His voice hadn’t been as strong as he had hoped. However, when Harry glanced at Draco, the blond nodded subtly. He had been correct, thank Merlin.

“Good. Now, the rest of you should be writing those answers down, as the upcoming quizzes will be verbal just as these were.” 

The man swept away once again. This time, however, once he got to the front of the class the professor clapped his hands. The information on the board disappeared, replaced with instructions to a low-level potion. 

A shark-like grin adorned Snape's face. “You will have the next hour and 30 minutes to start brewing your potion. Begin,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s chapter 2! The next chapter will be Percy’s part, and may end up longer than this was. Chapter 4 will be the remaining part of Harry’s 1st year at Hogwarts! It will be interesting, trust me :3 Anyways, please tell me what you think in the comments!


	3. miracle 1/?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The characterization is different in this chapter... I feel that it worked out, but please tell me if it didn't.

Percy was lonely—he had spent the last week at Camp Halfblood alone in the dusty cabin 3. The place had been uninhabited for a ridiculous amount of time, most likely since the pact the gods had made came into effect during WWII. 

That was a subject Percy had been extremely interested: the factors of demigods and the Greek pantheon in mortal wars. Such awful acts had been committed in these clashes, and there was something about it that bothered Percy… the fact that millions of people had been killed, maimed, or even outright tortured while the gods lazed around, just didn’t sit well with him.

There may have been rules in place that Percy wasn’t aware of, but there were ways to get around rules… Percy himself being an example. The gods knew how to get around these chains, but they had left millions to drown by not acting to help.

So many atrocities had been committed, all of which could have been stopped, or at the very least—avoided. 

So while Antigone was out on her quest, Percy brooded and mulled over the corrupt world he had been left in. 

There were texts from around the world, spanning decades, that had been collected in a library in the Big House. Because no one dared to really go against as child of Poseidon, Percy had nothing better to do. He scanned the documents and recollections of events to glean any useful information, but so far he had come up empty-handed.

However, the small journal the son of Poseidon held at the moment looked promising. 

Its cover was nondescript, simple brown leather wrapped in a thinner piece of leather to keep it closed. When opened, the pages were thick and old, slightly yellowed. The writing was slanted and at some parts hard to read, but what it spoke of was incredible.

Magic, more than the gods could have ever offered their children, and a whole society dedicated to it. The possibilities were endless, and Percy wished he had the ability to search for it. Putting aside the book, he decided to go more into depth in his research later. Energy had been building while he had been still—he needed an outlet, and knew of a good option to expend it. 

-

There were few positive sides to being in that camp, and one lay in his lessons with Luke: the older boy was extremely talented when it came to sword fighting, and he had been more than happy to begin tutoring Percy. 

Luke also allowed Percy to talk about what he found wrong with the Greek pantheon, which he was beginning to understand was a very dangerous subject to speak of. Percy was forbidden to mention any particular god, however, and Luke would warn him with “names have power, be careful,” any time he made the mistake.

It was in one of these sessions that Luke gave Percy his own enchanted weapon. 

“You manage to end this match in a draw and I have a gift for you,” Luke begun with. He wore a tank top with cutoff sleeves, showing off the muscles he had built after years of training. 

Percy readied his weapon. “It better be worth it,” he replied evenly. They rarely spoke more than a few sentences to each other.

Looking down, the son of Poseidon studied the blade in his hand. It was a simple double-bladed axe, worn down on both blades—before each match in which Percy used the axe, he had needed to sharpen the blade. Now, with care given towards it, the weapon gleamed bronze in the twilight. “You’re going to get your ass kicked, Luke.”

Percy saw the blonde smile right before he lunged. Luke struck hard, Backbiter pressing against the axe’s handle. Seeing an opening, Percy twisted the axe, almost catching Luke’s wrist. However, using the momentum that the son of Poseidon had built up, Luke spun away with the axe that came down on him.

They stood apart once more, Percy posed to strike. 

“Clever,” Luke said. His blue eyes narrowed, the scar marring his features. 

Percy moved forward slowly and then attacked. His blade was blocked by Luke, and the two began exchanging blows before the younger boy finally gained an upper hand.

Percy aimed low and swung his axe, catching Luke with the butt of his weapon, knocking him off balance. The blonde’s eyes widened as he stumbled back.

The battle continued like this for a while. Blows were parried and returned, and both boys were beginning to show signs of tiring. Percy had landed a deep cut on Luke’s side by use of a glancing hit—Luke had given the child of Poseidon a matching wound on his left thigh as a result of Percy’s teasing and lack of attention.

However, the battle soon swung in favor of the green-eyed boy. He had mastered the art of feinting a few mock battles ago, and utilized the skill eagerly against Luke. 

As Luke moved to block a nonexistent blow, Percy seized his chance and knocked the weapon out of the older boy’s hands.

Within a moment, Percy had flipped Luke onto his back, straddling him with the axe to Luke’s throat. They stayed in that position for a few seconds, heavy and fatigued breathing being the only sound.

Luke wheezed from his impact with the ground. Nevertheless, he cracked a rare smile at the child of Poseidon. 

Said boy got up from his position and dusted himself off, eyeing Luke with a newly inflated ego. “So, now you know what losing is like, huh?” 

Hermes’ misled child laughed, a sound that filled the empty space and left Percy feeling lighter. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

That sound didn’t last. Instead, any mirth in Luke’s blue eyes fled as seriousness took hold. Percy had briefly forgotten the reason he had worked doubly as hard this battle. Reminded of his mysterious reward, the boy’s attention was immediately on a small box he had never seen before (idly, Percy noted that it had appeared from nowhere as well). 

“This can’t be opened here. Before you ask, I can’t really tell you why either, so stop giving me that look.” Luke’s voice was somewhat stern, but underneath Percy could tell he was amused.

The look mentioned was Percy’s signature kicked puppy look, one that had bested even Chiron. In all honesty, the son of Poseidon prided himself on his ability to manipulate the adults around him. Being young had its benefits, he supposed. 

“Fine. Now what can I…?” 

Luke’s eyes flickered. They had turned a little darker, the setting sun bathing the arena in a red-orange light. “You have to open it in your cabin—nowhere else. You have to be completely alone.”

Percy was a little nervous at the tone in the other boy’s voice. He was strained, almost desperate. 

And suddenly, Percy pieced together the puzzle. 

The times Luke would nod along as Percy fumed about the gods, when he would tell Percy about children he saw lose their hope. Occasionally, he would even mention to Percy that there might be someone out there to help. In the back of his mind, a name was supplied. 

Kronos. 

The king of the Titans, a deity who had devoured his own children just to remain tyrant of his reign of terror. Yet… Luke had such hope in him. 

Percy looked up; sea-green eyes set. “I promise I’ll be careful.”

The words he spoke seemed to wash over Luke, leeching any tension out of his body. “Oh, thank the gods. I was going to risk everything—just, well,” he said rapidly, as many teens do when they are relieved of anxiety. 

Percy laughed, though it wasn’t as happy as normal. “You can trust me.”

Unspoken words were heard by Luke. 

“I hope I can trust you as well.”

-

Later that night, Percy sat alone (as per usual) on his bunk. The silence was almost eerie in that nothing permeated its stifling solidity. 

He lay back on the mattress, holding the box above himself. It was a pale ivory color, carved with runes that faded in and out, areas having been rubbed off by use. There were no hinges, rather, it seemed as if the box would open when it was ready. Or perhaps, when Percy was really ready.

Well, Percy wanted to be ready now. 

Almost as if the box had read his thoughts, there was a whirring noise emitting from the object. Percy sat straight up, abruptly hitting his head on the bunk above him.

“Ouch, shit…” 

However, his pain was a distant sensation as the whirring sound stopped. The ivory lid popped off with a satisfying puff of white smoke. Percy carefully set it next to him before taking a deep breath and looking inside the box. In it lay…

A watch. 

This was not what he had expected. 

It was simply made, interlocking metallic silver pieces creating the band—the watch face itself is what really caught Percy’s attention. 

Roman numerals are what told the time, inlaid with a glittering ruby. There were only four numbers, representing the increments of 15 minutes. 

While examining the watch (and admiring how it was generally a very handsome device), Percy noticed a small notch at the top of the case of the watch, pointing directly at the XII. In an impulsive mood, Percy tested to see if that notch could move to III.

And it did indeed. 

In a process that could only be described as extremely quick, the watch expanded in Percy’s hands into a weapon. 

The weapon was a sword, edged in a silver metal that Percy could tell was related to celestial bronze. However, as similar to Luke’s weapon, Backbiter, there was a line where two metals had been fused into one blade.

The line was small, but Percy realized that he held a weapon that was both godly and mortal. A special type of silver bonded with carbon steel was a weapon that could harm any enemies. 

It was while he studied the weapon that Percy found another watch face on the end of the hilt. This one was a bit smaller, yet held the rubies and dial that symbolized the weapon. Curiosity fueling him on, Percy turned the dial once more, this time to VI. 

This time, a familiar weight settled in his hands. The axe he had fought with earlier was almost perfectly replicated, this time with the twin blades sharp and ready for battle. Other than that welcomed change, the blades copied the metalwork of the watch, as well as the two metals combined. 

Nothing stopped a smile from spreading onto Percy’s face. He was extremely excited about this newfound weapon, the flexibility of his choices was astounding, and he could already see himself fighting by using these tools interchangeably. 

However, he had not forgotten the last roman numeral that was presented alongside the others. He found the watch face on the bottom of the hilt, same as the sword, and twisted it to IX. 

In the same process as before, the weapon in his hand changed rapidly into something that he was quite familiar with. 

A bow, silver and almost non-descript. However, as soon as that thought crossed Percy’s mind, the string of the bow… faded into existence. It was softly glowing silver, matching the rest of the weapon, and idly Percy wondered where he’d get arrows for such a delicate instrument.

The bow read his mind. He looked on with wonder as a slight shiver ran through the silver curve of the weapon, and an arrow appeared.

The arrow was designed simply, a shaft simple and straight, the arrow tip the same fused metal as the axe and sword. The fletching had edges in ruby, which made Percy a little nervous about using it to fight. If each arrow was lost, there was a lot of wasted material. However, seeing how the arrow had appeared nocked, there was a good chance that the same arrow would appear and reappear depending on the need.

At least, Percy hoped he wouldn’t have to retrieve the arrow each time he shot something. That’d suck. 

But now, curiosity satisfied, Percy turned the dial (which he had found on the back of the lower limb) back to XII. 

The watch turned back to its base form. The son of Poseidon wasn’t done inspecting his new weapon, however, and turned it over. 

He was not disappointed—there was a small inscription engraved in the smooth metal underneath:

Hieros

In all honesty, Percy had no idea what it meant. Luckily, however, the Big House held a library that he was fond of, and there was no reason he couldn’t visit. (Or perhaps spend the whole day there, as he had before)

With that plan in mind, Percy put the watch on his wrist and closed the clasp. It fit perfectly. 

Already having been in pajamas, he brushed his teeth and promptly fell into his bunk, tired from the spar with Luke, yet energized from the possibilities his newfound weapon brought. 

He fell asleep not feeling the usual loneliness that haunted Cabin 3. 

-

The next morning, Percy didn’t bother with breakfast, instead hurrying towards the Big House with the intent to spend most of the day surrounded by books. However, he was stopped along the way by Luke. 

“Did you open it?” His voiced was hushed and his eyes darted around in a manner that Percy found sort of funny.

“Yeah,” he raised his left arm to highlight Hieros. “It actually took me a bit to open the box, it was weird. Do you know—”

Luke cut off Percy’s sentence. “You need to be careful with it, Percy. If anyone asks where it came from, you have to lie. I don’t care about what, but make it reasonable.”

The son of Poseidon understood, but the thought of someone knowing the true origins of the weapon scared him. 

“I’ll try, but why are you worried about that right now?”

“Your sister realized something I gave her wasn’t designed to help. Her quest is nearly finished… when she gets back to camp there’s a chance I’ll be found out,” he said quietly. 

Percy didn’t really appreciate the fact that Luke had done something to thwart Antigone. He knew that with the choices he had made recently, they were supposedly on opposite sides of the war, but… it hadn’t really seemed real at all last night during the euphoria of receiving his weapon. 

There was a part of him that started to doubt what he thought he believed in. Squashing that feeling down, Percy nodded at Luke. 

“Is there anything that I need to do?”

-

Percy had waited four days for Antigone to make it back to camp. In his mind, there had been no doubt that she would save their mother as well, but somewhere along the line he had begun to resent the fact that it was her sent to save… well, everything. 

It could have been him. Instead, Antigone was the one who got the glory of being sent on a quest at the age of 11. She was the one to return to Zeus himself his fabled lightning bolt. 

However, that sentiment was lost as soon as Antigone trudged into the camp, Annabeth and Grover in tow. Percy immediately came to the trio’s aid, seeing the exhaustion extremely evident on their faces. 

“Are you okay? What happened? Do you need anything?”

Rather than being a bit overwhelmed by her brother’s fast-paced questions, Antigone seemed to welcome the sudden change from her partners’ silence. 

“I think—” before answering, Anti looked at Annabeth and Grover (who looked dead tired), deciding that she was correct in her assumption. “I think we’re all just tired.”

Percy nodded, but Anti saw something flash behind his eyes. Deciding to ignore that for now, she focused on her journey to the Big House. Her brother walked beside her, glancing back at Grover and Annabeth, most likely wondering why they hadn’t spoken. When he looked imploringly at Anti, she simply shrugged. It wasn’t her place to say anything. 

Chiron was at the steps leading to the Big House waiting for them. He smiled kindly at the four before speaking.

“I don’t think it can be said in words how truly grateful we are for what you did.”

Annabeth finally cleared her throat, words stumbling out of her mouth. “I don’t… this whole quest was a rabbit hunt, Chiron.”

The centaur appeared surprised, but his brow quickly furrowed to show his worry. “What do you mean, Annabeth?”

The blonde swallowed painfully. “Before we left, Luke gave Anti a pair of winged shoes… he claimed they were a gift from Hermes, and we didn’t really question it.” 

Grover found this an appropriate place to put in his experience. “It was kinda handy to have them at one point of the quest, but when I put them on they took off,” he paused, looking sick. “If it hadn’t been for these two I’d be dead.”

Percy was wide-eyed at that. He hadn’t realized what exactly Luke had done, but he was intrigued in an odd way.

However, the centaur found this development distressing. “This is… not something I would wish at this time,” he sighed. “I had my fears about him turning to the titans, but…”

Annabeth was suddenly furious. “What do you mean you had your fears?! Are you saying—” her voice broke off, suddenly wobbly. “You could have done something?”

Suddenly, Anti was struck by how old Chiron must be. This cannot have been the first time he had seen a hero (even one as beloved as Luke was) turn away from him, from the gods. A certain type of grief showed on his face. At once, the daughter of Poseidon knew it was something that, given she had the power, she would never wish to see again. 

-

Antigone understood that Grover and Annabeth had a closer relationship to Luke than she did. Hell, even Percy did (she felt a little guilty leaving him with only one other person, but it was for their mother). 

However, she didn’t understand the hesitance they approached the situation with. Maybe he deserved a second chance, maybe he didn’t, but the fact lay in that he actively tried to hurt someone. That someone was supposed to have been one of his friends (never mind the fact the shoes had been meant for Anti). That betrayal of trust was unforgivable, especially in Anti’s eyes. 

So, when Luke asked her to spend some one-on-one time, she was immediately on edge. Alone. In the forest. With a traitor. 

She decided to go along with it eventually, although she told Percy and Annabeth what was happening. If she didn’t come back, something was wrong. 

In hindsight, it was rather good that she told her brother. 

She had trudged into the forest alongside Luke talking about next to nothing. If she hadn’t already been suspicious about his true motives, the situation would already be pretty odd. 

The coke (blue, of course) glass in her hand kept her alert and a little chilly. Eventually, the two stopped in a small clearing. Anti realized there were no bodies of water near, and if it had been possible, her guard would have been even more raised. 

“I know you suspect something of me, Antigone,” Luke stated. He was emotionless at the moment, and when she met his eyes Anti only saw apathy. 

“You don’t know anything that’s happening right now.”

Anti bristled. “What do you even mean? I just went on a quest for the gods, of course I—” 

“That’s just it. You don’t realize that you’re just a tool for them, something to use and eventually,” he turned away from her, but for a second the daughter of Poseidon saw hate twisting the scar that ran down his face. 

What had happened to him?

“And eventually you’ll be thrown away.” Luke’s voice was strong, but dangerously fiery. He turned back around. “You obviously don’t understand what I mean.”

“No. I don’t. What I do know is that… however it is, in their own ways, our godly parents have to care. If they don’t, they are nothing.” Anti’s eyes were focused on Luke’s own. 

“We hold a power that others don’t—by just being the gods’ messengers, their children. We are asked to do many things because we’re an extension of them,” she paused. Anti had no idea where this was coming from, but she felt it in her soul. 

She set her glass down and crossed her arms, if only just to stop herself from shivering. “I can accept this because I have others to share that burden with… but so do you.” 

Luke’s face was still twisted as he held out his hand. As Anti watched, a scorpion she’d never seen before crawled across his arm to sit in the palm of his hand. 

“I stole the lightning bolt and engineered everything that you just destroyed. This is for my master—” Luke looked up from the arachnid. He smiled, an eerie sight as he was covered in the forest’s shadows. “And for myself. Because you have what I can’t.”

The scorpion lunged, and Luke walked away. 

Anti didn’t care about the retreating figure, rather, she was doing all she could to keep it from stinging her. This was no easy task, as there was a part of her that absolutely refused to touch the bug, never mind actually kill it with her bare hands. 

However, her desire to live outweighed her squeamishness. 

In a deft move, Anti captured the arachnid in her hand and squeezed. She felt the crunch of exoskeleton, and knew at once that it was dead.

However, when she opened her hand, a pain like no other is what greeted her. She had been stung. 

-

Percy knew that it had been a while since Antigone had gone into the forest, and his anxiety won out. He grabbed a water bottle just in case, knowing of the power he and his sister could wield. 

As he traveled in the direction he knew Luke and his sister had disappeared into a while ago, Annabeth joined him. She was quiet, as she had been for a while. 

“I know you don’t particularly like my sister and I but…” Percy’s voiced trailed a bit. “Luke helped me a lot too. Just know that if our fears are realized, you have me, if you need to talk.”

Annabeth didn’t reply, but her shoulders sagged just enough to let Percy know he had said the correct thing. 

They headed together into the dark forests, using a well-traveled path that winded just enough to disorient the senses. However, the pair had a feeling of dread before they reached the clearing. That dread was well-founded.

Antigone was on the forest ground, almost motionless save for the slight rise and fall of her chest. Her already messy hair had leaves stuck in it.

Percy was by her side immediately, while Annabeth was stuck in her standing position out of shock. He knelt down and uncapped the water bottle, unsure of what he was really supposed to do. He knew that—as children of Poseidon—they had certain water-based powers. However, Percy hadn’t really bothered to explore what he could do.

Annabeth had snapped out of it, and rather than being hysterical as Percy feared, she snapped into focus. She saw Antigone was curled around her hand and zeroed in on that, uncurling the other girl’s fingers.

There, the remnants of some insect. They fell out of her hand, and Annabeth saw that there was a sting of some kind: it was a raised bump, a single black pinprick marking where she had been stung. It looked as if poison was seeping into her bloodstream, a slow-moving black/purple trail of death. 

She held Antigone’s limp wrist, monitoring her pulse. “It’s faint,” the blonde murmured. “What can you do?” 

“I’ll do what I can, but… I don’t know…” he trailed off. 

The son of Poseidon gazed at his sister and knew, Luke and Kronos be damned, that he had to save her. With that resolve, he poured some water in his hand. 

He felt rejuvenated, any worry he had melted away—yet, he ignored this, instead focusing on what he needed to do. Healing was something that should be well within his range of abilities. And so, he pressed that hand to the wound.

In a second, Percy felt the poison seeping through Antigone’s veins, slowly overtaking her system. Furrowing his brow, the son of Poseidon focused on that feeling he had, the need to heal his sister. 

As his will intensified, Percy could feel the poison receding. It was as if every sense was amplified as he did so—he could hear Antigone’s heart’s beat getting stronger, and it just fueled him on. 

However, Percy was getting weaker. He felt himself getting lightheaded. No matter the pain he would be in after, he couldn’t afford to stop. Annabeth inhaled sharply as she finally noticed the poison receding. 

“How are you…?” Her voice revealed the fact that she was awed, but Percy ignored that and finished the job.

Antigone sat forward suddenly, gasping for air. “Where am—Percy?”

He was passed out on the ground next to where his sister had lay, breathing evenly.

And that was Percy Jackson’s first miracle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading... please comment if there are any problems that you find! I had a tough time with this chapter, mostly due to the fact I have no memory of how the lightning thief played out. Thank god for timelines, honestly omg


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